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Thursday, September 11, 2008

Of two tragic characters

You know, the tragic romance plays that women cry over with their boyfriends, who pretend to look bored while they're actually struggling to rein back a tear or two.

We have here character K, a boy. And we have character S, a girl. They might have had a relationship between them once, they might have not. But now K is disinterested, perhaps even a little hateful, and S is still in love with K.

K spurns her and pushes her away, ignoring her advances. S is upset, but still can't help the bright flare in her stomach whenever she sees him. In his presence, she is very aware of all her movements, and her words become lilting and measured. Beside him she wavers on a trembling tightrope, wondering what she looks like in his eyes. K does not pay any attention to her, and instead throws a rude comment.

But the examination here is not in the events, it is in those little flares, in the length of the tightrope.

S wants him to love her back. His words cut, cold as ice, and though she knows she should be hurt, she isn't. She can remember the grey-green of his eyes, the white directness of his words. They were for her. And it is this sole object, this sole idea that outweighs the meaning of those words, and they are gone from her mind, because he had turned to her. He had looked at her eyes, and parted his lips to speak.

It is hopeless love, of the maudlin "Where art thou?" type. And yet we follow along, feel the gasps in our mind as their tragedy continues.

But sometimes, K and S are not scripted characters on paper. Sometimes, they are real. Sometimes, they can be touched, and seen, and kissed.

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